Well This Is It
by wishshewasahunter
Summary: Charlotte Ross. She holds the last of her family's name. She's been poked, prodded, even tortured on countless occasions. As a long-time friend and fellow hunter to the Winchester boys, its her turn to write the gospel of Sam and Dean Winchester. And does a hell of a job doing it.


How can I describe Sam and Dean Winchester? The boys are something different I'll tell you that, but, their so… I don't know, unique? They have a goal in life, both of theirs are different but they hunt like one man and unlike any man I've ever seen. I've known them longer than anyone else in their lives; the rest all disappeared, died or downright got eaten. I hold the record of knowing them the longest. Yay me. Well, let's take 'em one at a time I guess.

Dean Winchester is the sort of guy that has a tough shell and it takes something, or someone, real important to him to crack that. He's all about putting everyone first, even if that means having to eat himself up for years after he made an important decision. You didn't hear it from me but, he's a real softy at heart and loves his brother to pieces. Other than that he's a tough cookie and a damn near amazing hunter and saved countless lives to prove it.

Sam Winchester on the other hand is almost the same but, he's more… open about it. He sees his problems and puts them into the open looking for help to solve them. Getting the bigger picture I guess, but that's his weakness. This has gotten himself in a position for a vessel and even killed. No he's not dead, I said he got killed but he did come back. Twice, No, Three times.

Right another thing, these boys have had way to many close calls with death. And when I say close calls I mean they've had close calls of never coming back from death. They've died so many times I can't count on both my hands. Mind you I've had a few scratches with death but, mine will eventually be my last. The boys have someone watching over them up there, I don't have a clue who, most angels want them dead, but there's someone.

I can't describe all the boys have done for this world 'cause theirs millions of little things they do on just their average hunt that most hunters couldn't dream of. Anyway that's what I'm here for! I've known the boys the longest and Chucks dead so I guess it's up to me to write their "gospel". This time though,

I'm doing it my way.

. . .

I swear the sun popped out that day. It was dark and dreary that October in Philly. The whole month just dark rain, but I swear it was the sun that brought them. I couldn't have more than 6 when my mother opened that door. A man and his sons stood on the wooden doorstep, their feet sticking to the day old lacquer my father had painted on the day before. The man spoke calmly but with a strong authority to his sons, yet his voice softened with my mother. I stared at the boys one small and one bigger, the smallest one looked around my age.

We exchanged stares while the adults were talking, the soft mumbling above us the only sound. The man, is name being John, asked my mother if the boys could stay with us while he met my father out in Missouri. So he was like my parents then. Probably had a lot of guns and knives in his car he used on business like Dad. We had a lot of wayward people come and go at the house, though only for a couple weeks at most never longer than a month. I guess we were the home that, all people like Dad and Mom were, could call home.

They called them Hunters. They even told us kids at a very young age that Arin and I were too. Arin began his training young, around 9, as soon as he could hold up a shotgun. The first time he shot my Dad's was in the back of our 5 acre, little paradise in the woods, 50 miles away from the center Philadelphia, we called home. Most Hunters can't say that. I was the younger sibling whose parents tried to force a natural born Hunter to be normal. Many questions arose in those early years of life. Why does Dad leave? Why do we have so many guns and knives? Who are all these people? To say the least I was the rebel child when I hit the age of 10.

That day the Winchesters first showed up at my door, they didn't just bring the sun that month. They brought years of pain and suffering for all of us, but a joy that one can never replace in a million years. And I found myself smack dab in the middle of it. Needless to say the first month and a half the Winchesters had at the Ross home was the greatest month and a half ever. Dean always got into our weapons collection in the garage with Arin yelling at him, shooting in the gun range while I rooted them on so see which of the boys would win.

Even after they left we grew up connected, I always talked to Sam over phone, email or IM. I would tell him what is was like being normal and he would tell me about their dad's latest hunt. We understood and respected each other like we were family. It's not like what you may be thinking. We never wanted to be in a relationship of any kind other than close friends. We told each other everything. I even told him my feelings towards Dean when I was 12. He, while at first was freaked out by it; he realized that he shouldn't be surprised; I mean I used to take late walks all the way into downtown Philly to meet them in a motel they were staying at.

What I'm trying to show is the way I see these boys. I can't describe them as just your run-of-the-mill Hunters. Their special. I'll get to it why don't worry. But this is a story remember?


End file.
